Chapter XXII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE BLAZE OF THE TINDER--FLESH WARS WITH THE FLESHThe misfortune of the Hurstwood household was due to the factthat jealousy, having been born of love, did not perish with it.Mrs. Hurstwood retained this in such form that subsequentinfluences could transform it into hate. Hurstwood was stillworthy, in a physical sense, of the affection his wife had oncebestowed upon him, but in a social sense he fell short. With hisregard died his power to be attentive to her, and this, to awoman, is much greater than outright crime toward another. Ourself-love dictates our appreciation of the good or evil inanother. In Mrs. Hurstwood it discoloured the very hue of herhusband's indifferent nature. She saw design in deeds andphrases which sprung only from a faded appreciation of herpresence.As a consequence, she was resentful and suspicious. The jealousythat prompted her to observe every falling away from the littleamenities of the married relation on his part served to give hernotice of the airy grace with which he still took the world. Shecould see from the scrupulous care which he exercised in thematter of his personal appearance that his interest in life hadabated not a jot. Every motion, every glance had something in itof the pleasure he felt in Carrie, of the zest this new pursuitof pleasure lent to his days. Mrs. Hurstwood felt something,sniffing change, as animals do danger, afar off.This feeling was strengthened by actions of a direct and morepotent nature on the part of Hurstwood. We have seen with whatirritation he shirked those little duties which no longercontained any amusement of satisfaction for him, and the opensnarls with which, more recently, he resented her irritatinggoads. These little rows were really precipitated by anatmosphere which was surcharged with dissension. That it wouldshower, with a sky so full of blackening thunderclouds, wouldscarcely be thought worthy of comment. Thus, after leaving thebreakfast table this morning, raging inwardly at his blankdeclaration of indifference at her plans, Mrs. Hurstwoodencountered Jessica in her dressing-room, very leisurelyarranging her hair. Hurstwood had already left the house."I wish you wouldn't be so late coming down to breakfast," shesaid, addressing Jessica, while making for her crochet basket."Now here the things are quite cold, and you haven't eaten."Her natural composure was sadly ruffled, and Jessica was doomedto feel the fag end of the storm."I'm not hungry," she answered."Then why don't you say so, and let the girl put away the things,instead of keeping her waiting all morning?""She doesn't mind," answered Jessica, coolly."Well, I do, if she doesn't," returned the mother, "and, anyhow,I don't like you to talk that way to me. You're too young to puton such an air with your mother.""Oh, mamma, don't row,"; answered Jessica. "What's the matterthis morning, anyway?""Nothing's the matter, and I'm not rowing. You mustn't thinkbecause I indulge you in some things that you can keep everybodywaiting. I won't have it.""I'm not keeping anybody waiting," returned Jessica, sharply,stirred out of a cynical indifference to a sharp defence. "Isaid I wasn't hungry. I don't want any breakfast.""Mind how you address me, missy. I'll not have it. Hear me now;I'll not have it!"Jessica heard this last while walking out of the room, with atoss of her head and a flick of her pretty skirts indicative ofthe independence and indifference she felt. She did not proposeto be quarrelled with.Such little arguments were all too frequent, the result of agrowth of natures which were largely independent and selfish.George, Jr., manifested even greater touchiness and exaggerationin the matter of his individual rights, and attempted to make allfeel that he was a man with a man's privileges--an assumptionwhich, of all things, is most groundless and pointless in a youthof nineteen.Hurstwood was a man of authority and some fine feeling, and itirritated him excessively to find himself surrounded more andmore by a world upon which he had no hold, and of which he had alessening understanding.Now, when such little things, such as the proposed earlier startto Waukesha, came up, they made clear to him his position. Hewas being made to follow, was not leading. When, in addition, asharp temper was manifested, and to the process of shoulderinghim out of his authority was added a rousing intellectual kick,such as a sneer or a cynical laugh, he was unable to keep histemper. He flew into hardly repressed passion, and wishedhimself clear of the whole household. It seemed a mostirritating drag upon all his desires and opportunities.For all this, he still retained the semblance of leadership andcontrol, even though his wife was straining to revolt. Herdisplay of temper and open assertion of opposition were basedupon nothing more than the feeling that she could do it. She hadno special evidence wherewith to justify herself--the knowledgeof something which would give her both authority and excuse. Thelatter was all that was lacking, however, to give a solidfoundation to what, in a way, seemed groundless discontent. Theclear proof of one overt deed was the cold breath needed toconvert the lowering clouds of suspicion into a rain of wrath.An inkling of untoward deeds on the part of Hurstwood had come.Doctor Beale, the handsome resident physician of theneighbourhood, met Mrs. Hurstwood at her own doorstep some daysafter Hurstwood and Carrie had taken the drive west on WashingtonBoulevard. Dr. Beale, coming east on the same drive, hadrecognised Hurstwood, but not before he was quite past him. Hewas not so sure of Carrie--did not know whether it wasHurstwood's wife or daughter."You don't speak to your friends when you meet them out driving,do you?" he said, jocosely, to Mrs. Hurstwood."If I see them, I do. Where was I?""On Washington Boulevard." he answered, expecting her eye tolight with immediate remembrance.She shook her head."Yes, out near Hoyne Avenue. You were with your husband.""I guess you're mistaken," she answered. Then, remembering herhusband's part in the affair, she immediately fell a prey to ahost of young suspicions, of which, however, she gave no sign."I know I saw your husband," he went on. "I wasn't so sure aboutyou. Perhaps it was your daughter.""Perhaps it was," said Mrs. Hurstwood, knowing full well thatsuch was not the case, as Jessica had been her companion forweeks. She had recovered herself sufficiently to wish to knowmore of the details."Was it in the afternoon?" she asked, artfully, assuming an airof acquaintanceship with the matter."Yes, about two or three.""It must have been Jessica," said Mrs. Hurstwood, not wishing toseem to attach any importance to the incident.The physician had a thought or two of his own, but dismissed thematter as worthy of no further discussion on his part at least.Mrs. Hurstwood gave this bit of information considerable thoughtduring the next few hours, and even days. She took it forgranted that the doctor had really seen her husband, and that hehad been riding, most likely, with some other woman, afterannouncing himself as BUSY to her. As a consequence, sherecalled, with rising feeling, how often he had refused to go toplaces with her, to share in little visits, or, indeed, take partin any of the social amenities which furnished the diversion ofher existence. He had been seen at the theatre with people whomhe called Moy's friends; now he was seen driving, and, mostlikely, would have an excuse for that. Perhaps there were othersof whom she did not hear, or why should he be so busy, soindifferent, of late? In the last six weeks he had becomestrangely irritable--strangely satisfied to pick up and go out,whether things were right or wrong in the house. Why?She recalled, with more subtle emotions, that he did not look ather now with any of the old light of satisfaction or approval inhis eye. Evidently, along with other things, he was taking herto be getting old and uninteresting. He saw her wrinkles,perhaps. She was fading, while he was still preening himself inhis elegance and youth. He was still an interested factor in themerry-makings of the world, while she--but she did not pursue thethought. She only found the whole situation bitter, and hatedhim for it thoroughly.Nothing came of this incident at the time, for the truth is itdid not seem conclusive enough to warrant any discussion. Onlythe atmosphere of distrust and ill-feeling was strengthened,precipitating every now and then little sprinklings of irritableconversation, enlivened by flashes of wrath. The matter of theWaukesha outing was merely a continuation of other things of thesame nature.The day after Carrie's appearance on the Avery stage, Mrs.Hurstwood visited the races with Jessica and a youth of heracquaintance, Mr. Bart Taylor, the son of the owner of a localhouse-furnishing establishment. They had driven out early, and,as it chanced, encountered several friends of Hurstwood, allElks, and two of whom had attended the performance the eveningbefore. A thousand chances the subject of the performance hadnever been brought up had Jessica not been so engaged by theattentions of her young companion, who usurped as much time aspossible. This left Mrs. Hurstwood in the mood to extend theperfunctory greetings of some who knew her into shortconversations, and the short conversations of friends into longones. It was from one who meant but to greet her perfunctorilythat this interesting intelligence came."I see," said this individual, who wore sporting clothes of themost attractive pattern, and had a field-glass strung over hisshoulder, "that you did not get over to our little entertainmentlast evening.""No?" said Mrs. Hurstwood, inquiringly, and wondering why heshould be using the tone he did in noting the fact that she hadnot been to something she knew nothing about. It was on her lipsto say, "What was it?" when he added, "I saw your husband."Her wonder was at once replaced by the more subtle quality ofsuspicion."Yes," she said, cautiously, "was it pleasant? He did not tell memuch about it.""Very. Really one of the best private theatricals I everattended. There was one actress who surprised us all.""Indeed," said Mrs. Hurstwood."It's too bad you couldn't have been there, really. I was sorryto hear you weren't feeling well."Feeling well! Mrs. Hurstwood could have echoed the words afterhim open-mouthed. As it was, she extricated herself from hermingled impulse to deny and question, and said, almost raspingly:"Yes, it is too bad.""Looks like there will be quite a crowd here to-day, doesn't it?"the acquaintance observed, drifting off upon another topic.The manager's wife would have questioned farther, but she saw noopportunity. She was for the moment wholly at sea, anxious tothink for herself, and wondering what new deception was thiswhich caused him to give out that she was ill when she was not.Another case of her company not wanted, and excuses being made.She resolved to find out more."Were you at the performance last evening?" she asked of the nextof Hurstwood's friends who greeted her as she sat in her box."Yes. You didn't get around.""No," she answered, "I was not feeling very well.""So your husband told me," he answered. "Well, it was reallyvery enjoyable. Turned out much better than I expected.""Were there many there?""The house was full. It was quite an Elk night. I saw quite anumber of your friends--Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Barnes, Mrs.Collins.""Quite a social gathering.""Indeed it was. My wife enjoyed it very much."Mrs. Hurstwood bit her lip."So," she thought, "that's the way he does. Tells my friends Iam sick and cannot come."She wondered what could induce him to go alone. There wassomething back of this. She rummaged her brain for a reason.By evening, when Hurstwood reached home, she had brooded herselfinto a state of sullen desire for explanation and revenge. Shewanted to know what this peculiar action of his imported. Shewas certain there was more behind it all than what she had heard,and evil curiosity mingled well with distrust and the remnants ofher wrath of the morning. She, impending disaster itself, walkedabout with gathered shadow at the eyes and the rudimentarymuscles of savagery fixing the hard lines of her mouth.On the other hand, as we may well believe, the manager came homein the sunniest mood. His conversation and agreement with Carriehad raised his spirits until he was in the frame of mind of onewho sings joyously. He was proud of himself, proud of hissuccess, proud of Carrie. He could have been genial to all theworld, and he bore no grudge against his wife. He meant to bepleasant, to forget her presence, to live in the atmosphere ofyouth and pleasure which had been restored to him.So now, the house, to his mind, had a most pleasing andcomfortable appearance. In the hall he found an evening paper,laid there by the maid and forgotten by Mrs. Hurstwood. In thedining-room the table was clean laid with linen and napery andshiny with glasses and decorated china. Through an open door hesaw into the kitchen, where the fire was crackling in the stoveand the evening meal already well under way. Out in the smallback yard was George, Jr., frolicking with a young dog he hadrecently purchased, and in the parlour Jessica was playing at thepiano, the sounds of a merry waltz filling every nook and cornerof the comfortable home. Every one, like himself, seemed to haveregained his good spirits, to be in sympathy with youth andbeauty, to be inclined to joy and merry-making. He felt as if hecould say a good word all around himself, and took a most genialglance at the spread table and polished sideboard before goingupstairs to read his paper in the comfortable armchair of thesitting-room which looked through the open windows into thestreet. When he entered there, however, he found his wifebrushing her hair and musing to herself the while.He came lightly in, thinking to smooth over any feeling thatmight still exist by a kindly word and a ready promise, but Mrs.Hurstwood said nothing. He seated himself in the large chair,stirred lightly in making himself comfortable, opened his paper,and began to read. In a few moments he was smiling merrily overa very comical account of a baseball game which had taken placebetween the Chicago and Detroit teams.The while he was doing this Mrs. Hurstwood was observing himcasually through the medium of the mirror which was before her.She noticed his pleasant and contented manner, his airy grace andsmiling humour, and it merely aggravated her the more. Shewondered how he could think to carry himself so in her presenceafter the cynicism, indifference, and neglect he had heretoforemanifested and would continue to manifest so long as she wouldendure it. She thought how she should like to tell him--whatstress and emphasis she would lend her assertions, how she shoulddrive over this whole affair until satisfaction should berendered her. Indeed, the shining sword of her wrath was butweakly suspended by a thread of thought.In the meanwhile Hurstwood encountered a humorous item concerninga stranger who had arrived in the city and became entangled witha bunco-steerer. It amused him immensely, and at last he stirredand chuckled to himself. He wished that he might enlist hiswife's attention and read it to her."Ha, ha," he exclaimed softly, as if to himself, "that's funny."Mrs. Hurstwood kept on arranging her hair, not so much asdeigning a glance.He stirred again and went on to another subject. At last he feltas if his good-humour must find some outlet. Julia was probablystill out of humour over that affair of this morning, but thatcould easily be straightened. As a matter of fact, she was inthe wrong, but he didn't care. She could go to Waukesha rightaway if she wanted to. The sooner the better. He would tell herthat as soon as he got a chance, and the whole thing would blowover."Did you notice," he said, at last, breaking forth concerninganother item which he had found, "that they have entered suit tocompel the Illinois Central to get off the lake front, Julia?" heasked.She could scarcely force herself to answer, but managed to say"No," sharply.Hurstwood pricked up his ears. There was a note in her voicewhich vibrated keenly."It would be a good thing if they did," he went on, half tohimself, half to her, though he felt that something was amiss inthat quarter. He withdrew his attention to his paper verycircumspectly, listening mentally for the little sounds whichshould show him what was on foot.As a matter of fact, no man as clever as Hurstwood--as observantand sensitive to atmospheres of many sorts, particularly upon hisown plane of thought--would have made the mistake which he did inregard to his wife, wrought up as she was, had he not beenoccupied mentally with a very different train of thought. Hadnot the influence of Carrie's regard for him, the elation whichher promise aroused in him, lasted over, he would not have seenthe house in so pleasant a mood. It was not extraordinarilybright and merry this evening. He was merely very much mistaken,and would have been much more fitted to cope with it had he comehome in his normal state.After he had studied his paper a few moments longer, he felt thathe ought to modify matters in some way or other. Evidently hiswife was not going to patch up peace at a word. So he said:"Where did George get the dog he has there in the yard?""I don't know," she snapped.He put his paper down on his knees and gazed idly out of thewindow. He did not propose to lose his temper, but merely to bepersistent and agreeable, and by a few questions bring around amild understanding of some sort."Why do you feel so bad about that affair of this morning? hesaid, at last. "We needn't quarrel about that. You know you cango to Waukesha if you want to.""So you can stay here and trifle around with some one else?" sheexclaimed, turning to him a determined countenance upon which wasdrawn a sharp and wrathful sneer.He stopped as if slapped in the face. In an instant hispersuasive, conciliatory manner fled. He was on the defensive ata wink and puzzled for a word to reply."What do you mean?" he said at last, straightening himself andgazing at the cold, determined figure before him, who paid noattention, but went on arranging herself before the mirror."You know what I mean," she said, finally, as if there were aworld of information which she held in reserve--which she did notneed to tell."Well, I don't," he said, stubbornly, yet nervous and alert forwhat should come next. The finality of the woman's manner tookaway his feeling of superiority in battle.She made no answer."Hmph!" he murmured, with a movement of his head to one side. Itwas the weakest thing he had ever done. It was totallyunassured.Mrs. Hurstwood noticed the lack of colour in it. She turned uponhim, animal-like, able to strike an effectual second blow."I want the Waukesha money to-morrow morning," she said.He looked at her in amazement. Never before had he seen such acold, steely determination in her eye--such a cruel look ofindifference. She seemed a thorough master of her mood--thoroughly confident and determined to wrest all control fromhim. He felt that all his resources could not defend him. Hemust attack."What do you mean?" he said, jumping up. "You want! I'd like toknow what's got into you to-night.""Nothing's GOT into me," she said, flaming. "I want that money.You can do your swaggering afterwards.""Swaggering, eh! What! You'll get nothing from me. What do youmean by your insinuations, anyhow?""Where were you last night?" she answered. The words were hot asthey came. "Who were you driving with on Washington Boulevard?Who were you with at the theatre when George saw you? Do youthink I'm a fool to be duped by you? Do you think I'll sit athome here and take your 'too busys' and 'can't come,' while youparade around and make out that I'm unable to come? I want you toknow that lordly airs have come to an end so far as I amconcerned. You can't dictate to me nor my children. I'm throughwith you entirely.""It's a lie," he said, driven to a corner and knowing no otherexcuse."Lie, eh!" she said, fiercely, but with returning reserve; "youmay call it a lie if you want to, but I know.""It's a lie, I tell you," he said, in a low, sharp voice."You've been searching around for some cheap accusation formonths and now you think you have it. You think you'll springsomething and get the upper hand. Well, I tell you, you can't.As long as I'm in this house I'm master of it, and you or any oneelse won't dictate to me--do you hear?"He crept toward her with a light in his eye that was ominous.Something in the woman's cool, cynical, upper-handish manner, asif she were already master, caused him to feel for the moment asif he could strangle her.She gazed at him--a pythoness in humour."I'm not dictating to you," she returned; "I'm telling you what Iwant."The answer was so cool, so rich in bravado, that somehow it tookthe wind out of his sails. He could not attack her, he could notask her for proofs. Somehow he felt evidence, law, theremembrance of all his property which she held in her name, to beshining in her glance. He was like a vessel, powerful anddangerous, but rolling and floundering without sail."And I'm telling you," he said in the end, slightly recoveringhimself, "what you'll not get.""We'll see about it," she said. "I'll find out what my rightsare. Perhaps you'll talk to a lawyer, if you won't to me."It was a magnificent play, and had its effect. Hurstwood fellback beaten. He knew now that he had more than mere bluff tocontend with. He felt that he was face to face with a dullproposition. What to say he hardly knew. All the merriment hadgone out of the day. He was disturbed, wretched, resentful.What should he do?"Do as you please," he said, at last. "I'll have nothing more todo with you," and out he strode.